By Brianne Simone
(TW: ableism and sexual harassment)
“There is news I must share with you, Doireann.” Patrons bustled around us as Jamie stared intently at me. I could feel their curious eyes lingering as they passed, but Jamie was as immutable as a rock in a river. “It is my wish to marry your sister.”
The din of the village died down to little more than a murmur. I was sure I’d understood him perfectly, yet part of me wished that I’d misheard. To think that such a short, simple statement could change our lives irrevocably.
“Why are you telling me this?” I heard myself say.
Bemused, he cocked his head to the side. With a mop of messy brown hair and brown eyes to match, he was the spitting image of the terrier pup my sister had found in the field and raised. “You have a right to know, Doireann. She’s your sister, after all.” I raised a hand to my chest, touched. Then he continued, “And I’d really like you to congratulate her after she says yes.” I frowned. That was a little presumptuous, wasn’t it? “I’ve already informed the florist and the baker—”
“Wait,” I interrupted, “have you asked her already?” The last time Aisling and I had spoken of marriage, she hadn’t seemed keen on the idea. It was a sentiment we’d shared. Yes, she’d been seeing suitors for some time now, but that was what young maidens her age did. Or most of them, at least.
Jamie beamed. “I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I love her, Doireann.”
I suppressed the urge to shake him. “That isn’t what I asked.” But was I wrong? Was this boy about to have his heart crushed, or had my sister changed her mind? And if it was the latter, why didn’t she tell me?
I buried my hands within the folds of my dress, curled them into fists, and then slowly released them. “I’m happy for you,” I said, changing tack. This wasn’t for me to interfere with, after all.
“Then you’ll celebrate with us, sister-in-law?” I cringed inwardly. While I appreciated the depth of his care for Aisling, I sincerely wanted this conversation to end and was considering diving headfirst into a pig’s trough to escape it.
“Of course,” I said with a smile that felt as though it’d been nailed to my face. “My sister is precious to me, and you are good to her. I wish you both all the happiness in the world.” He waited, clearly hoping I would refer to him as brother-in-law, but though I was not adverse to the idea, I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
He wasn’t my brother-in-law, in any case. Not yet.
“When will you propose?”
Jamie deflated a little, then quickly perked back up again. “I’ll propose to her on Samhain.”
“Is that wise?” I inquired.
“I’m an orphan,” Jamie admitted. “I was taken in by a kind family, and they raised me as though I was one of their own, but my mother and father died from illness when I was too young to remember their faces.” He hooked his thumbs behind his waistband. “If I ask Aisling to marry me when the divide between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, maybe my parents will know, and they’ll see that, although I still miss them, I’m happy.”
I bit down on my lip to keep any more words of caution from spilling out. As much as I wanted to remind him that more than just his parents were waiting on the other side of that divide, I couldn’t.
He was handsome, kind, and he’d die before he let any harm befall my sister. He cherished her. And he hadn’t come to me seeking advice.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Go n-éirí leat,” I said softly. “And a thousand blessings upon you.” He nodded, eyes bright with joyful tears, and finally bid me a polite goodbye before racing back to Aisling’s side.
Would they have children together? I tried and failed to imagine Aisling with child.
Then I imagined a litter of shaggy-haired terrier pups with big brown eyes gathered up in Aisling’s arms, her face still glowing from childbirth, and grinned at the ridiculous image as I scanned the market stalls for a plump chicken.
Once Aisling was married, she’d move into a house with Jamie, and I—the eldest daughter—would have to suffer my parent’s endless disappointment without her company.
The time for me to find a suitor had come and gone, and now I was an old maid with no wealth to my name and no means of sustaining myself.
Everyone knew the only way for a woman to live was to find a husband, yet no one seemed to have a clue what to do if no man wants you. My only solace was that I have never wanted a man.
Oh, I’ve had a handful of suitors over the years. However, I have the great misfortune of being an exceptionally honest person, and when asked of my feelings towards their lovemaking, I replied with a guileless smile, “It was strange. I don’t think I liked it.”
And the suitors did not call on me again.
When faced with the choice of depending on a man for my livelihood and birthing his children or being a burden to my parents, I decided to be a burden. It was not a selfless decision.
I am not a selfless person.
My father told me once that if I were his son he would throw me out of the house and let me fall on my ass in the mud. Sometimes, I wish he would.
Such an act would cut this awful cord connecting us. Family, love, and duty.
When I was a child, I slipped out of my parents’ sight and fell through the surface of a frozen lake. I was so young when it happened that I can’t remember the details, though if I think about it long and hard enough my heart starts to gallop.
One of the villagers had heard the crack and rushed to find my father, who dived into the frigid water and pulled me ashore. My body was cold and unmoving, so he pounded desperately on my chest, pleading with the gods to return my spirit, and after far too many minutes I was restored.
Back then, the villagers called it a miracle. No one calls it a miracle anymore.
I hiked up my dress as I perused the vendors to keep the mud from staining my hem. There was a faint smell of manure mixed with shaved wool and salted meat. Animal fat was a fine addition to any meal, but the coin purse in my pocket was a little too light for such a luxury.
The bulk of my money came from teaching the village children. There was not much else to do for a single woman who could not sew or cook.
Although I’ve been teaching the children to read and write for over a year, I still struggle to control the classroom when they’re restless. If I’m too polite, they won’t listen to me. If I’m too stern, they still won’t listen to me, only they’ll tell their mothers that their teacher was mean to them that day.
Yesterday, a little girl started crying in the middle of my class, and I froze. Had she been hurt, I could have fetched her a bandage, but all she kept saying was, “I don’t want the fairies to take me.”
“You’re far too old for that,” I tried to comfort her. “The fairies take babies, not little girls.”
She sniffled, blue eyes bright with tears and red curls sticking to her wet face. “Were you a baby when the fairies took you?” I didn’t know what to say.
Was that what the villagers were saying about me now?
Changeling.
Whenever a fairy stole an infant, they would replace the babe with a wooden creature, carved to imitate the appearance of the original. But this creature never grew to adulthood. It would suckle on the mother’s teat until the mother was dry, and even then its appetite and avarice were never satisfied.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t see the children barreling toward me until a small boy ran straight into my legs and bounced back, landing on his rear. He looked up at me, face streaked with dirt. “Sorry, Teacher,” and I recognized little Tom from my class.
“Hello, Tom.” I helped him to his feet and brushed the mud from his trousers.
Another boy, his older brother, rushed forward, grabbed Tom, and gave him a hard shake. “Don’t talk to her,” his brother said harshly. “Or do you want the fairies to take us, too?”
I watched them scamper off, waving slightly when Tom peered over his shoulder to look back at me. As soon as they were out of sight, I released a heavy sigh.
Perhaps I should be grateful that it’d taken this long for such rumors to spread. At twenty-six, I’d been living at home for a decade longer than most of the girls in the village, and there was no indication that I’d be leaving anytime soon.
I purchased an unplucked chicken from Mr. O’Reilly. He smiled at me. “Things will get be’er for you, lass. You’ll see.”
How? I wanted to ask. When?
But this wasn’t a promise or a prediction. The old man was only trying to make me feel better. I’d heard many such assurances before, as I’d waited for my life to magically improve, but it never did.
Still, I would bear the brunt of a thousand wicked rumors before I owed my livelihood to a man. I was no one’s property.
With my purchase made and dinner secured, I started heading home, chicken cradled in my arms.
As soon as I passed the threshold of our house, my father looked up from the stove and asked, “What do we have to do for you so you’ll leave?’
“Hello to you, too,” I muttered as I laid the dead chicken on the table. “If you could spare a goat or a horse for me, I might find a way to live on my own.”
“We’ve already given all we can spare to your sister.”
“Then what would you do? Beg the baker’s son to ask for my hand in marriage? Sell me? Send me to another village?”
“Your mother and I are getting old,” Father reminded me, sinking into a chair by the fire. “We cannot support you forever.”
“Support me?” I repeated, baffled. “Who feeds the livestock? Who sweeps the floors? Who finds food for us and keeps the furnace fed?”
Father slammed his hand on the table, making the dead chicken jump. “All things you should be doing for your own family! You’re already a woman. I should not have to fear for you all the way to my grave.” He dragged a hand over his bearded face. “If not for you, I would sell the livestock. It would be enough to support your mother and me.”
I stared at him. His features were weathered from decades of hard labor. I could still remember when my father was so big and strong I could grab onto his arm and he’d lift me off the ground with ease. I remember when my head could barely reach his waist and I’d tell him, “I’ll be taller than you, one day,” and he’d laugh, full and rich and warm.
I worshiped my father when I was a child. He was the greatest man I ever knew.
The years have made him thin and sickly.
“I have nowhere to go,” I said, slowly, the words bitter on my tongue. “Even if I did, I’d have no way to get there.”
Father stood. He gently cupped my cheek with rough, calloused hands. “Doireann, you will always be my daughter. But I cannot live your life for you, and I cannot shield you from it.”
Tears burned in my eyes. Had I sucked my parents dry, as the villagers said? Could it be that they were right about me? Father’s eyes softened. “Sometimes, we must do things we do not want to so that we may survive.”
“You would have me marry,” I accused.
The door to the cottage opened and Mother stepped inside. “Oh, we’ve already lost hope of you ever finding a husband.” She brushed me aside and started to aggressively pluck the feathers from the chicken. I glanced at Father, who averted my gaze. “I suspect you’ll be living with us until we’re dead and buried.” Her words always felt like a curse being placed upon me.
If I were trapped in a bog, she would hold up a stick, break it, and say, “You were never getting out of there. Besides, it’s your own fault for stepping where you shouldn’t have.”
Perhaps we are a curse upon each other.
“The children think I’m a changeling,” I blurted.
“Maybe you are,” Mother replied without taking her eyes off the chicken carcass. It stung more than I’d thought it might. I set the table, then stepped outside to feed the goats their second meal of the day.
* * *
The villagers gathered wood in a clearing for a great bonfire and decorated it with gourds, squashes, and red apples. When night fell, they set the wood ablaze, and we filed into the clearing, our heads adorned with masks made of straw to deter any evil spirits from approaching us.
A man dressed as a rooster sat on a bale of hay and pulled out a flute. He blew into it once to test the sound, then burst into a happy tune, and the villagers started to dance, taking each other by the elbow and moving in time to the music.
Jamie was dressed as a boar. The mask made him a bit clumsy, but my sister, dressed in a pale dress with a flower garland upon her crown, was patient, and she laughed goodnaturedly every time he stumbled. Eventually, she guided him to a bench, and I watched as she lifted the mask from him, revealing his sweaty face and his damp hair. She seemed to glow in the firelight, and he looked at her the way a man trapped in the darkness might look at a candle.
I could see the moment he strengthened his resolve.
Setting the mask to the side, Jamie got down on one knee, clasped my sister’s hands between his, and asked her to marry him.
Aisling jumped to her feet. Her hands were pressed to her face, so I couldn’t tell if she was upset. Then she threw herself at Jamie, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he caught her with a joyous expression.
It wasn’t long before the whole village knew what had occurred. Cheers rang out. Father went to clap Jamie on the back while Mother embraced my little sister.
I stepped forward to join them when someone tapped my shoulder. “Hello, Doireann,” a familiar voice said.
Frowning, I bit out, “What do you want, Doyle?”
Doyle had courted me once.
Mother would often go to visit the neighbor’s house. I must have spoken to him once before it was decided we would make for a lovely couple.
That lasted until he tried to slip his hand up my dress during last year’s harvest festival. I kept telling him to stop, but he refused, and when I informed Mother, she said, “You should be grateful that young man is showing interest in a woman of your age.” For the sake of her friendship with our neighbor, I was not permitted to be angry.
But I was angry. I never allowed him to touch me again.
As the cheering continued, Doyle stood beside me and held my arm so I couldn’t walk away without making a scene. “You know, you’re not really in a position to keep denying me.” He chuckled. “Or anyone, really. You’re a burden to your parents and the village.” Jamie pressed a sweet kiss to Aisling’s cheek, and her whole face flushed. Doyle’s fingers bruised my skin. I would have marks tomorrow. “All you do is sleep and eat and drain our resources. Even a dog would be too good for you.”
“I would prefer a dog over you,” I replied through gritted teeth. “They have far better manners.” I shoved him off me and raced into the forest. I didn’t hear any voices calling after me, but maybe that was for the best.
* * *
Do you ever wish you’d left me in that lake?
I could never say those words aloud, but as the darkness closed in around me and the sounds of merriment faded, replaced by harsh breaths and pounding footsteps, it was all I could think about.
Would my parents be happier if I was dead?
Branches tore at my sleeves and briars at my skirt as I pushed forward without a trail to guide me. It didn’t matter that I had no destination. I only wanted to escape.
“Where are you going?” a lilting voice called out from somewhere in the trees. It stopped me in my tracks, hair raising on the back of my neck. “There’s nowhere for you to run, is there?”
I knew I shouldn’t look. I had to keep moving.
The forest was a dangerous place to be in the dark, especially when you’re alone.
I looked behind me, but I could no longer make out the orange glow from the village bonfire. When I turned forward, a boy was standing in front of me. He was barefoot and his skin was a greenish hue, his hair a fiery red that reminded me of autumn leaves and blood.
“I remember you, child,” he purred. “I carved you from a pinecone.”
I reeled back. “What are you talking about?”
His laughter resembled the chime of bells, though it felt like thorns jammed into my eardrums. “You were in that frozen lake for such a long time. And your father was so desperate to save you.” He cocked his head to the side with a cat-like grin. “I simply did them a favor.”
“If that’s true,” I said, though I didn’t believe a word of it, “what happened to the real Doireann?”
“What happens to little girls when they fall into the cold and dark?” he sang. My heart lurched. I was going to be sick.
The moon shifted, and a ray of silver light illuminated my arm, which was suddenly hard and covered with whorls of wood grain and bark. I brought my fingers to my front teeth to find that they were pinecone scales.
I tried to remove my garland from my head, but the flowers had grown roots and my hair had turned to straw. “What did you do to me?” I rasped through the dirt in my throat.
“I revealed you for what you have always been.” The fairy bowed mockingly before vanishing, though I could still hear his horrible laughter as I stumbled back the way I’d come.
I was afraid. I wanted to see my family. I wanted someone to save me.
But I was a monster now. Worse, I had never been their daughter to begin with.
Was the true Doireann still waiting at the bottom of the lake for someone to come for her?
As the sounds of the festival grew louder, I circled around the clearing, keeping to the shadows so no one would spot me, and headed toward the lake. It wasn’t quite cold enough for it to freeze, so I had no trouble getting in, and since my body was made of wood, I didn’t have to worry about the temperature.
Although I suspected that I wouldn’t need to breathe, the terror I felt when my head went beneath the water was paralyzing. I fought to stay afloat, keeping my mouth firmly shut even as my mind reasoned that creatures made of wood wouldn’t need air, until I discovered that the impulse to take a breath was gone. More proof that I wasn’t human.
Which means all I need to worry about now are mold and wood rot, I thought bitterly as I walked over the bottom of the lake, searching for Doireann. She would have been so small, and so much time had passed. How much soil, sand, and debris had been layered on top of her over the years?
“I’m here.” The words came out muffled as dark lake water filled my mouth. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to come. I didn’t know you were waiting.” I listened for a response, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe some small part of me hoped that the magic that kept me alive had worked for her, too.
It was impossible to see in the murky depths and every step kicked up more silt and mud.
Even if I searched for a thousand years, I might not find Doireann.
But what did I have, if not time?
I promised her I’d return tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, for as long as it took. But there was something I needed to do first.
As I climbed out of the lake, damp straw stuck out from my head, and my soaked blouse and skirt clung to my body. I trudged back to my parent’s cottage, leaving a trail of mudwater and pine needles behind me.
Aisling slept on the second floor. She curled up on a cot that was pressed against the window and woke with the morning sun shining in her eyes.
She didn’t stir when I crept in through the window.
I pulled back her blanket with some difficulty, since new shoots growing on my fingers kept getting caught in the wool, and slipped into bed with her. Luckily, she wasn’t facing me.
Her brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled from the smell of mud and forest. “Doireann?”
I whispered, “Don’t turn around.”
“You smell terrible.”
With a strained laugh, I lied, “It’s hardly my fault it’s raining outside.”
“Why did you run away?” She sounded hurt. I couldn’t imagine what terrible thoughts must have gone through her head when she saw me run into the forest after her engagement.
“Doyle,” I said simply.
Aisling sighed. “He’s bothering you again?” I pressed my head against her back and nodded. “Should I tell Jamie?”
I shook my head. “No, don’t tell him. Let me handle the village idiot. You both have more important matters to concern yourselves with.”
“You are important,” Aisling assured me. She tried to turn around, but I wouldn’t let her.
There were leaves and wood shavings in her bed.
“And what if the villagers are right?” I whispered urgently. “What if I’m not your sister? What if I’m a changeling?”
Aisling scoffed. “If you’re just going to speak nonsense all night, you’re not welcome in my bed.” I chuckled under my breath. “You’re my sister, Doireann. Nothing will change that.”
The tension slowly bled out of me. “Besides, fairies aren’t r—”
I clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say it,” I hissed. I looked outside the window, searching for vibrant red hair, green skin, and a cruel smile. “You never know what could be listening.”
Aisling pushed my arm away and wiped her lips. “Blegh! Your hands are so rough!”
I wrapped my arms around and pulled her close, embracing her one last time. “Sorry, Aisling,” I said miserably. “I’m so terribly sorry.”
“What for?”
“For not being the elder sister you deserved.”
Her hand came to rest on mine. “Who told you you’re not?” She waited stubbornly for me to respond, occasionally prompting me to speak, but there were roots curled around my jaw. I stayed with her until her brow relaxed and her breathing evened, and I pressed a hasty kiss to her forehead as I carefully pried my branches away from her.
I was more pinetree now than I ever was a woman, but at least I could take comfort in knowing that Aisling would be cared for. She had Jamie now.
And as I returned to the forest, to the lake, to the dark, I wondered if the villagers would tell stories about me, the changeling who stayed too long and left too soon. The pinetree that grows in the lake.
