Page 5 of A Kiss From a Revenant
The urge to shut my door and close shop is never more enticing than on days like today.
Part of me was grateful for the strenuous workload. It easily kept my mind off last night's events. However, now that my final customer has come to collect her things from me, knowing I will be alone makes unease trail icy fingers down my spine.
Collecting the freshly repaired stack of men’s trousers, I hand them over to Isabelle. She smiles gratefully. While she may only be a few years older than me, she’s been looking a bit worse for wear each time she comes to visit. Her once-bright golden hair has dulled to dishwater brown. The lines around her eyes and mouth have deepened.
The squeals of her children echo in from the porch. With three of them all under ten and at only twenty-seven, Isabelle must have her hands full. There is tiredness in her eyes, but something else too—a skittishness, one that replaced the good-natured young woman she used to be.
I know exactly who put that fear into her.
“Thank you, Nory,” she says. “You always do such a wonderful job. Butch is always tearing holes in his pants. No better than a child, I say.”
Even as she tries to laugh, there's a tightness to it. I don’t miss how her eyes dart behind her as if her husband could have overheard her jibe.
“From all the hunting, yes?”
“Butch is a gifted hunter,” Isabelle murmurs. “We are blessed that he has found such fortune in the forest.”
I glance down at the state of her own clothes—the fraying at the top of her dress and the disastrous state of her soiled hem. Raising a brow, I nod at her.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to fix your clothing? Or the children’s?”
She comes to me nearly once a week, always in the same drab garments. The children are no better with their hole-ridden boots and pants two sizes too small.
Isabelle’s lips turn down, a sad smile overtaking her face.
“Quite sure. I only have enough coins to pay for Butch.”
I open my mouth, wanting so badly to tell her what everyone in town thinks of her husband. He is a miser. Squirreling away the large sums of gold he makes from each of his plentiful hunts, using those coins to satisfy himself in deplorable ways. Gambling, drinking, adultery—there isn’t a sin her husband hasn’t partaken in.
Meanwhile, Isabelle toils away as a maid in some of the wealthier families’ homes. The children live on her meager salary while their father spends his gold as he pleases. He cares little for his children—even less so for his wife. There is no way Isabelle is ignorant of the sordid stories told about her husband.
The man disgusts me, but he is far from the only horrible one in this town. That is why I hold my tongue. What good would it be to tell Isabelle what I thought? I would hate for her to think I was another gossip who talked about her misfortunes behind her back. She is a kind woman who’s been through enough.
Silence stretches between us for a moment, both clearly wanting to say more but deciding it is unwise. Reaching into her pocket, she grips a small coin purse and holds it towards me. At the motion, the worn sleeve of her dress pulls back, revealing a reddish purple bruise. The unsightly mark encases her entire wrist.
I gasp, my eyes widening as they meet hers. Isabelle’s hand begins to tremble, and unshed tears pool in her brown eyes. Glancing over her shoulder, she once again confirms that Butch has not magically appeared at my threshold.
“He’s been so awful lately,” Isabelle whispers. “More awfulthan ever before. His drinking is worse. It used to be his yelling we would have to endure, but now…”
A shiver causes her whole frail body to convulse.
“I’m worried he’ll start hurting the children. I can endure it, but them—I could not live with myself if they bore the brunt of his anger. My youngest is barely two, I don’t want him raised in fear.”
“Leave him,” I say. “Surely there is someone who would take you in.”
Isabelle’s small smile returns as tears fall down her cheeks.
“There is nowhere for us to go. Despite keeping his money from us, he does provide us with food and shelter. I could never support three children on my own. We would surely perish without him.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “The only way we’d ever be free of him was if he died, but I’m not naive enough to hope for a hunting accident to save us.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Isabelle drops the sack of coins on my work table with a thud.
“Thank you again, Nory. Don’t worry about us, we will make it through. Somehow, we always find a way.”
Without another word, Isbaelle scoops up her husband’s clothes and turns to leave.
Even though she told me not to, I can’t help but worry about her, especially as I watch her collect her three children who have been waiting on the stoop. They are all dressed poorly, a far cry from the sturdy garments I fixed for their father. The eldest is a girl of nearly eight. Her golden hair is hidden beneath a white cap. Taking each of her younger brother’s hands, she glances over her shoulder, and our eyes meet through the window.
Her brown irises are wide and beseeching. While they may be fed and have a place to sleep at night, what kind of life are they truly living? One ruled by fear at the hands of their drunkard father. Time only makes men like him worse.
