My mum thinks she knows what I’m doing this afternoon. She’d be right and wrong. I’m AM going to grandma’s cottage but not to visit her. Grandma died weeks ago. I found her lying in her own blood in the dark forest. My wails brought another who comforted me and buried her body in a lovely grove. He said her death appeared to be caused by some large animal. All I remember is blood as red as my cloak.
I adored my Grandma and miss her still. I tried to tell Mum when I returned so late that day but she had gone into labor and delivered twins. The delivery has left her weak and tired. She doesn’t even remember sending me out that day. All her attention is for those squalling brats.
No these baskets of food are for the woodcutter. If mother knew, she wouldn’t let me continued to come out here. So I told her that Grandma is too sick to travel to see her and the babes. No, I walk the paths into the forest to be with him. He who comforted me. He who dug the grave of my grandmother. He who helped me roll Grandmother into her best quilt and tenderly lay her in the ground. He who covered her in the dirt and then placed stones upon the grave to prevent animals from digging Grandmother up.
First my visits were innocent. I was escaping my guilt and the incessant cries of my baby brothers. I figured I need to make sure the cottage was clean and protected. He always seemed to know when I would be there. I would find repairs done on the cottage or flowers on the threshold. Once there was a new wood pile for the hearth. Gradually I stopped making up excuses to myself, to him. I agreed to let him hold my hand as he showed me flowers in the meadows. Not many visits later, we were laying my red cloak on the ground for more carnal pleasures. Eventually we moved to Grandmother’s bed. By now the cottage feels more like mine than hers.
I cannot hide Grandma’s death much longer. Neither can I hide my growing belly much longer. First I will tell him, then he will come with me to tell my mother of the death and the coming birth. I hope. No. Wulf was there for me at grandma’s death, surely he’ll be there for the birth of our child. Really, he will.