One fine morning, a young woman stepped outside her house. She was slender in build and tall, taller even than were most boys her age, with long legs…
Actually, I will become distracted if I talk about her legs. Perhaps we should just move on. Unless you want to listen to me gab about her legs for a few hours… I did not think so.
Anyway… Echoes of childhood lingered in her round cheeks. Her eyes, however, looked far too old for a young woman. Dark circles lined her blue eyes, dimming their brightness a bit. Those eyes told everyone that she had experienced more hardships than any sixteen-year old should have.
She paused just outside the door and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. Golden hair. Not blonde hair. Genuine golden hair. I had thought golden hair was just a myth before I met her. That it had been invented by starry-eyed writers who should have spent more time in the real world. But she did have golden hair. She kept it tied back into a ponytail, except for one strand. That strand rested just in front of her right ear. It had an annoying habit of adventuring across her face and obstructing her vision, as it had done just then.
She wore a hand-me-down dress that had been in her family for generations. Faded blue in color, the poor dress had been taken in and let out many times through the years. Patches, either yellow or green in color, concealed the wear and tear it had suffered. Our young woman never felt comfortable wearing a dress. She preferred the hand-me-downs of her father or her older brother. But it was off to work for her. And a washerwoman had to look the part. That meant she had to wear a dress.
Some friends called to her as they walked down the other side of the street. Smiling, she waved to them. Oh! That smile. It was spectacular. That smile caused her entire face to brighten. When you saw it, you just knew that its owner was alive, not merely breathing but vibrantly alive. Does that make sense? It does to me. Maybe you had to see her smile to understand. That smile moved everyone who saw it. It was inviting, making you feel young and special. No one could resist that smile’s charm. But she was unaware of its potency.
Around our young woman’s neck was a chain of flowers. Wearing necklaces made of flowers was popular amongst the elves. On that day, she wore a strand of daisies. She fiddled with the flower necklace for a moment. Raising it to her nose, she sniffed one of the flowers. She smiled again, thinking it was the beginning of a lovely day.
Then, at last, Mythilda set off for work.
Her stroll took her past the communal heart of every Elvenhome—its Faerie Square…
Oh, the Faerie Square! I remember the one in Dusk, the Holding where I grew up. Sneaking into the Elvenhome was a pastime of mine when I was a wee girl. I had an excellent hiding spot from which I could watch the elves as they celebrated in their Square. I thought it the most wonderful place in Nisse Cul Tairna.
You should have seen the trees! Garlands made of ivy and daffodils rested upon the branches, spiraling up to the tops of the trees’ crowns. Giant bows of every color were affixed to the branches. So, too, were candles. And streamers made of flowers dangled from the branches and down to the ground.
In the shade beneath the trees were maypoles, providing elven children with safe places in which to play. Oh! The sound of their laughter would ring throughout the Square. How I would long to quit my hiding spot and join their elfin merrymaking.
And then at night—Oh! At night, the elves would light the candles, making the trees gleam. I would lose track of time as I watched, awe-struck, as the elves danced and sang beneath their splendid trees. Being out so late landed me into trouble with my daddy more than a few times.
…Sorry for getting sidetracked, Mister. It’s just… the Faerie Squares were absolutely amazing! Okay. Okay. Back to Mythilda…
A swarm of boisterous elven children were horsing around in the square. Due to their poverty, all elves who had reached puberty had to work so their families could make ends meet. This meant that parents and older siblings could not watch over the younger elves. So during work hours, elven children would gather in the Faerie Squares where they received guidance from the Elders.
Elders were, um, elderly elves whose age and wisdom had won them renown amongst their kindred… Oh, stop chuckling, Mister! I realize I used the word elderly to describe the Elders. I thought calling them old elves would sound rude. Anyway… Although Elders held no official power, the respect they had earned was formidable. No elf wished to disrespect them.
Mythilda spotted Elder Gareth scolding two particularly rowdy boys who had drawn a naughty picture on a nearby building.
“Is this any way to behave, boys?” said Gareth. “You, William, and you, Jameson, are nothin’ but a pair of louts. What would yer mommas say if they saw this filth? Depictin’ a woman like that—the poor lass wouldna be able to stand upright ’cause of the size of her… chest.”
Both boys snickered despite the hangdog expressions they wore on their faces.
Smiling gleefully, Mythilda walked briskly up behind Gareth and wrapped her arms around him.
Gareth jumped slightly from surprise. Noticing who was hugging him, he said, “Ya gave me a turn there, Wee Lark. It’s not a good idea to sneak up on me when I’m dealin’ with ne'er-do-wells.”
Mythilda and Gareth were close. He was like a grandfather to her. When she was a girl, Mythilda would give him a big hug as soon as she arrived at the Faerie Square each morning. Gareth would greet her with, “Ah! There’s my wee lark.” Then he would pick her up, toss her into the air a few times, and spin her about until she felt dizzy… I think that was the most precious memory she had of her childhood…
Mythilda kissed Gareth’s cheek. “Good morning to you, too, you old grump.”
Examining the boy’s, um, artwork, she went on, “Looks like you’ve discovered two artists with vivid imaginations. Are those watermelons she’s holding in front of her chest?”
The boys snickered again.
“Now, don’t ya go encouragin’ them, Wee Lark,” said Gareth. “These reprobates are gonna learn to respect women and other people’s property.”
“Most boys their age are obsessed with, um, those,” said Mythilda, pointing at the drawing. “I think you are in for a challenge.”
“They’ll learn, right enough, even if it kills me. And right now they’re gonna learn how to paint over this smut.”
Biding Gareth good luck, Mythilda continued on her way.
Soon she exited the Elvenhome and entered one of Dawn’s working class districts…
Have you visited Dawn? No? Oh, poor you! You must go there one day. The Holding Dawn is the only place in Nisse Cul Tairna where you can find sunstone. Most of the City Proper is built of it. When sunshine beams upon the sunstone, the City Proper glitters. Oh! What a lovely copper color it radiates as it sparkles. But I am getting sidetracked again. You may become angry with me. And we do not want that to happen, do we? Let us return to Mythilda then…
Her destination was Madame Januarie’s laundry service. Mythilda had worked for Madame Januarie since she was twelve. She worked ten hours a day, six days a week…
Can you imagine having to work so hard when you were just twelve years old? I thought having to go to school was bad when I was twelve. I used to fake…
You know, you are thinking so loudly that I can hear you. In your head, you are screaming, “Aargh! Izzy! Just get on with it.” Fine. I will. But it hurts my feelings that you only want to hear about Mythilda and not about me... Oh. Do not look so sheepish. I am only teasing you.
Anyway… Mythilda… You want to hear about her, yes? Upon arriving at Madame Januarie’s, Mythilda set about scrubbing Lady Ooh-La-La’s soiled undergarments. They were all lace and frilly. But I am sure you do not want to hear a detailed description of a Lady’s undergarments. If you do, then… well, you need to seek help. But ask someone else for help, not me. I am not about to help you with that problem, Mister Creepy.
Several hours passed uneventfully for Mythilda when…
“Mythilda,” bellowed Madame Januarie. She was a buxom, middle-aged woman with red cheeks and frizzy brown hair. “Mythilda!”
Mythilda was so engrossed in cleaning Lord Look-At-Me-Ain’t-I-A-Dandy’s silk pantaloons that she did not hear Madame Januarie.
“Mythilda! Drat you, girl. Take the cotton out of those big ears of yours and answer me.”
Myth told me that Madame Januarie was always that surly. The comment about Mythilda’s ears was not meant to be an insult. Madame Januarie was equally rude to everyone, no matter if you were an elf or a human. Myth had many fond memories of her, actually. She respected that Madame Januarie cared more about what a person did and less about what species they were. Unlike most humans, Madame Januarie paid elves the same wages as she did humans. “Proper pay for proper work,” was her motto. Jobs at her laundry service were highly sought after. Mythilda had had to work hard to earn her place at Madame Januarie’s laundry service.
“Mythilda! Snap out of it, you foolish girl.”
“Hmm,” uttered Mythilda, realizing suddenly that Madame Januarie was addressing her.
Mythilda turned to face her formidable boss. Despite being markedly taller than Madame Januarie, Mythilda wilted before the tiny woman. She kept her head bowed and fixed her gaze upon the ground.
“Sorry, Ma’am,” said Mythilda. “I was so focused on cleaning these pantaloons that I did not hear you. It won’t happen again, Ma’am.”
Madame Januarie inspected Mythilda’s work. Satisfied, she gave Mythilda a curt nod. This nod was the highest display of approval she ever gave her workers.
“I’m glad to see you weren’t fooling about,” said Madame Januarie.
“No, Ma’am.”
Mythilda usually kept her responses short when she spoke to Madame Januarie. Workers who prattled on and on did not last long at the laundry service. “Speaking keeps you from working,” was a phrase Madame Januarie often used… I doubt she would have approved of me…
“But answer me when I call you next time,” said Madame Januarie. “Or there will be consequences.”
“Or there will be consequences” was the worst thing Madame Januarie could say to an employee. None of them had ever pushed Madame Januarie far enough for them to learn what these consequences were.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I want you to take Lady Haythorne’s laundry to her estate,” said Madame Januarie. “Be sure you take it round back, to the servant’s entrance. Her ladyship made it clear that she doesn’t want an elf to knock on her front door. Oh my! Think of the scandal that would cause. Her ladyship simply couldn’t bear it. It’s about the only scandal she’s eager to avoid, or so I hear.”
Madame Januarie was one of the leading gossips in Dawn. The way she worked juicy tidbits of scandal into her instructions to her employees was legendary. “Speaking keeps you from working” apparently did not apply to her.
“Deliver the laundry to Myrtle, she’s a sensible girl,” Madame Januarie went on. “Under no circumstance are you to leave it in the care of Liza. I’ll not have my reputation besmirched because some useless, giggling excuse of a girl cannot do anything properly. Well, except for getting herself into the family way, if you know what I mean. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” replied Mythilda. “Well… I know what to do with the laundry, Ma’am. I’m, um, not sure what you mean by ‘getting herself into the family way,’ though.”
Madame Januarie glared at Mythilda. “Are you being smart with me, girl?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Am I paying you to ask questions?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Am I paying you to stick your nose into other people’s business?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“What am I paying you to do?”
“To wash laundry, Ma’am.”
“What else?”
“To deliver Lady Haythorne’s laundry to Myrtle, Ma’am.”
“Good. Off you go. And don’t you dare dawdle.”
“No, Ma’am.”
Mythilda picked up Lady Haythorne’s laundry. Wasting no time, she set off. Dawdlers, after all, might have to deal with the consequences.