Aster's Story

Michael raced ahead of his father toward the town square.  They had just come into town, the first Michael'd ever seen with a street market.  He'd barely given dad enough time to check on mother in the back of their coach before skipping off to see it.  His dad was still jogging to catch up when he stopped in his tracks.
"Wow!"  There were people moving in all directions, to and from stalls, doors and niches around the square.  He could see fruit sellers, some kind of meat hung on racks, bolts of cloth and all sorts of things he didn't recognize.
"Michael!" His dad finally caught up and clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder.  "How about you stay close to me now, or we go back to mom?"  Michael glanced back distractedly, and turned away with a wave of his hand.
"Okay, okay dad.  Sorry."  He reached up and put his hand in his father's with a smile.
"That's better."  At his father's agonizingly sedate pace, they made their way into the throng.  Michael swung his head back and forth, trying to take in everything at once.  There was just too much for him to afford lingering on any one thing.  He knew deep down that his family couldn't afford much of what was here, and Michael wanted to find that one thing worth talking his father into trying.
With this sense of purpose, he swept the scene appraisingly, alternately assessing and discarding one thing after another.  But a strange susurrous sound came to his ears as the walked through the square, sometimes louder, then quieter, and occasionally stopping altogether.
Completely forgetting his purpose, Michael stretched his 12-year-old neck to little avail as he tried to see where the sound was coming from.  It had gotten especially audible when he was brought up short.  He looked back and up to see his father stopped dead, and staring.
"Dad, what is it?"
"That girl…"
"Huh?" Michael turned his head that way just as the crowd thinned to reveal the focus of his father's gaze, and the source of the sound he'd heard.  A girl that looked about Michael's own age shuffling away from one of the stalls, a bag of food in her hand.  The sound was the rasping of chains that held an oblong box big as the girl to her back.
"That's funny.  What's that big box? It's pretty."  Ornate metal-work adorned the face of the narrow box.
"It… it's a coffin."  His dad hadn't moved a twitch.  The girl looked up.  Eyes widened in shock and then her head dropped and she turned to angle away from them.  Michael looked back to his dad.  Still no movement.
"Dad, what's wrong?  You're staring funny."  His father's eyes refocused as he tipped his head to meet Michael's intent gaze.  He almost smiled
"Sorry, Michael.  She just… She looks just like a good friend I knew.  A long time ago."
"Oh, well that's easy.  I'll just go ask and find out!"  He darted from his dad's side, having taken advantage of the earlier distraction to disengage his hand.
"Michael-!"  His dad threw out a hand but grabbed only air.
Michael first ducked the other way, through a thick group of people.  The girl had started walking faster, headed for the end of the square.  He had to run a circuitous route to be sure he lost his father as the crowd gave the strange girl a wide berth.  As it was she was on the street a few steps outside the town square when he finally caught up to her.
"Hi."
The girl jerked, the coffin shifting so much he feared she'd tip over.  Amber eyes that didn't quite seem to fit met his for only a split second as she recovered.  The girl ducked her head and forged ahead without looking twice.  Michael had to stretch his legs to keep up.  But that only made him more determined.
"That looks heavy, can I help?"  A shake of the head, hair bouncing in time with the rattle of chains.
"You from around here?" Another shake negative.
"What's your name?"  The girl stopped, and Michael stumbled to follow suit.
"Why are you bothering me?"
"My dad said you reminded him of somebody, and I've never seen someone carry a, a coffin around before."
"Loo-"  The girl suddenly sagged, dropping the bag of food as she put hands on knees.  She looked like something heavy had just landed on her back.
"Hey!"  Michael put a hand to her shoulder.  The way she looked at him he was pretty sure she'd have jumped back if she could have.  He couldn't meet those eyes long before he slowly let go.  Shaking it off with a smile, he got down on his knees and started putting stuff back in the bag.  "Here, let me help."
"… Thanks."
Michael didn't look up until he had everything back in the bag.  As he stood up the girl, apparently recovered, plucked it from his hands.
"Daniel, just go back.  I need to go.  By myself, okay?"
"Dan?  That's my dad's name."  The girl grimaced as she turned and started walking again.  "Whatever.  Sorry I forgot then."
"No," He matched her pace again.  She was moving slower this time.  "I hadn't told you yet!"
"Then I'm sorry again," the girl said breathlessly.
"My name's Michael!  What's yours?  Sure I can't help?"
"A- Angela.  And no, Michael.  Go back to your father now."  The sentence had a note of finality to it.  Michael slowed to a stop.  The girl didn't slow down, or look, just walked away.
"Michael!"  He turned back the way he'd come to see dad pelting after him.  "Michael, why did you do that?"
"Sorry, dad.  It's okay though.  She didn't wanna talk."  He lowered his face submissively, stretching out a hand.  His father grabbed his shoulders and knelt down to look him in the eyes.
"You know better than to run off like that.  What if something had happened."
"I'm fine, dad," Michael looked away, uncomfortable.  But brightening with memory he looked back, "she knew your name though!"
His father stopped halfway to standing
"Huh?"
"When I was talking, she called me Daniel."  His father's grip on his shoulder tightened as he looked past him at the retreating coffin.
"Yeah…  Come on, let's go back."
"Okay."


Aster shut the door resolutely before turning to go into the kitchen.  The rattle of chains was unusually noticeable as she walked across the dusty main room.
"How was the market?"  The voice came from the deep shadows in the far corner as she entered the kitchen.  Hot anger rose in her throat before she ruthlessly clamped down on it.  She dropped the bag of food on the table, apples rolling free across it's surface.
"It got heavier again, father.  Just as I was coming home."
"Aster-"
"Father, please.  Just, just don't."  She set about putting the food away before sinking wearily onto her stool.  It took the weight off her legs if not her back.  Or her heart.  She polished the apple she'd kept with the ruffle on her sleeve before taking a bite.  She did not acknowledge the tears at the corner of her eyes.
"Aster," it was a whisper, a plea from those shadows.  "You were crying."
"I saw Daniel today father.  Apparently he's brought his family to visit this area."
"Daniel?" She took small comfort in the shock in his voice.  At least he remembered the name as well.  "His fam-"
"He has a boy now, nearly," Her throat caught, and she forced it back again.  "Nearly my age."
"Aster, I,"
"You what, father?" Aster sighed heavily, setting the now tasteless apple on the table.  "You're sorry?  That was years ago," which didn't seem to lessen the pain.  "And being sorry hasn't changed much," She stopped herself short of a true tirade, "has it father?" she finished quietly.  She retrieved the apple and took another bite forcefully, refusing to let it get stuck in her throat.
"No.  I suppose it hasn't."
The crunch of the apple and occassional rasp of the chain resettling were the only sounds but for the two persons breathing until she finished.  Aster flicked the stem across the room and levered herself up with a sigh.
"Forgive me, father.  But I feel the need to lie down a spell."
"It is not yet noon." A statement, not a question or direction.  He didn't use either, anymore.
Aster caught the stair railing and started the climb to her room.  She directed her gaze to the kitchen corner.
"What I don't finish today, I'll still have tomorrow won't I?" It was no thought worthy of a loyal daughter.
Her father finally stood from the corner, revealing his still rugged handsome face.  He looked sad, guilty.  It was a very small consolation to her, the guilt.
"I know, daughter mine.  I know."
She heard the front door open, then close as she reached her room.  She sent up a silent prayer that the box would be lighter and not heavier still, when she arose again.