Free The Ruins of Lace by Iris Anthony Page A

week before. During her weekly clandestine visits, I always told her I had no wish for anything, having eaten so recently, but in truth, I discovered I could. When she pushed her bundles through the wall for me, my stomach never failed to cramp with hunger.
    “Why haven’t you told me your eyes have gotten worse? Stand away and let me see you from the side.”
    Though I ate, I did as I was bid.
    “You look shorter than last I saw you. Stand up straight.”
    I lifted my shoulders and uncoiled my spine.
    “I meant straight. As a pin.”
    “I am.”
    “You’re bent as a shepherd’s crook.”
    I was? But I was standing as straight as I could.
    “Come here. Come toward me. Put your eye to the gap.”
    I swallowed the last of the egg, wiping the yolky crumbs from my fingertips onto the bread. I set my face to the hole.
    “I have to get you out. No more delays. I spoke to the Reverend Mother last month, and I’ve saved one coin more since then. Perhaps this time—”
    “ Nee! ”
    “You’re hunched as a grandmother…and you’ve almost gone blind.”
    “ Nee. Please. Don’t speak to them. Don’t say anything.”
    “Why not? I’ve been saving money for years to buy you back. And with that extra coin…perhaps that will be enough if I promise to return with the rest later…”
    “Don’t. Please don’t.”
    “And why not?”
    “Because. Because…I’m in the middle of a length, and I must finish it. I have to finish it.”
    “If you don’t finish it, I’ve no doubt they will find another who will.”
    “ Nee. They won’t.”
    “It’s not you who has to finish it. It’s the abbey.”
    “It’s my length.”
    “Truly, Katharina, the buyer will care nothing for your name. He will never know it.”
    “But…”
    “If I don’t take you out, they’ll push you out.”
    “ Nee. They won’t.”
    “They will. They have. I see what’s left of you poor lace makers all over the city, doing…vile things, Katharina. Vile things. Things that cannot be forgiven.”
    “Which lace makers?”
    “Which of them? All of them! What do you think will happen to you when you can no longer work? When you can’t see to thread a needle?”
    “Bobbin.”
    “Needle, bobbin, it doesn’t matter which. And they don’t care, either. They care nothing about you!”
    “They do. I’m the best lace maker they have.”
    “And their best lace maker has almost gone blind. Can’t you see the work is destroying you?”
    “But it isn’t.” It couldn’t. How could I be destroyed by something I loved?
    “I will speak to her. Today. And I’ll see if I can’t have you out by Sunday.”
    “ Nee! Please. Please. Let me just…let me finish the lace. Three weeks. Please.” And perhaps by then she would have forgotten her threat.
    “Well…you don’t think they’ll notice?”
    “They haven’t noticed yet.”
    “Then…be off with you. Before they come looking.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’ll see you next week. And I’ll ask the nuns in three weeks. Once I’ve had the chance to come by more money.”
    I turned from the wall and left her, washed my hands once more, and ascended the stairs. But this time, as I took up my work, I found no pleasure in the dance. Only duty and dull repetition. Petal after petal, flower after flower, scroll after scroll. There was nothing magical about a length of lace. There was no story in its pattern. There was only thread.
    Yards and yards of thread.
    •••
    The next morning started much like the one before. We assembled after breakfast, hands washed, held up for inspection. Again Mathild was separated from us and sent to the infirmary. A rustle of unease rippled through us.
    One time more. Perhaps two. How long would it be before she too vanished?
    We assembled together and then walked to the workshop. But halfway through the morning, Mathild appeared. She sat down beside me and took up her work.
    “I have lost my place.”
    The sound of a whisper, a voice not belonging to